His Garden of Bones (Skye Cree Book 4) (28 page)

A
s Dillard headed toward the marina and his boat, he took a shortcut to save time.  While the SUV hummed along Essex Place lined with towering western hemlock and cedar trees, things were going well in his head. He’d calmed down from the adrenaline rush of abducting Chenoa. He’d managed to make it this far without freaking out.

The landscape changed from the gentle roll of hill to the pancake-flat, coastal marshland at sea level. Recognizing the familiar terrain, the anticipation made him step on the gas to get to his destination faster. As he grew closer to Pier Sixty-Six, where he could sneak his victim on board his boat, he tried to accelerate even more. But the Yukon stalled. It suddenly came to a complete stop in the roadway.

He checked the gas gauge. He had plenty of fuel. Desperate, he turned the key, trying to engage the starter again. But all he got for his trouble was a terrible grinding noise.

In his madness the alter ego he’d used to gain Chenoa’s trust—the female named Justine—snapped out her disapproval of the situation. “What the fuck have you done now? We have to make it to Elliot Bay Marina and get out of the area while this bitch is still out cold. Because of you the boat is our only way out.”

His other persona, the equally tall female, but always grumbling Tiffany, chided him in unison, “Dillard’s incompetent. Surely you know that by now, Justine. He’s going to get us all caught.”

“Did you forget to fill the tank?” Justine needled. “How could you have forgotten to get gas?”

“We’re out of gas? You idiot!” Tiffany grumbled. “Why is it Justine and I always have to do the thinking for you? Why?”

“We’re not out of gas,” Dillard claimed. “There must be something wrong with the engine.”

“It’s a brand-new car,” Justine insisted. “Brand-new cars don’t just quit.”

He did his best to argue back, but as usual the voices inside his head didn’t listen. The two women did what they always did. They exploded in condemnation.

Dillard blamed them because things were coming undone, and fast. If the women would just shut up for one damn minute and give him time to think clearly maybe he’d be able to fix the problem and get out of this mess.

He put his hands up over his ears trying to shut out the racket. But it did little good. “Don’t you two start in on me, just don’t! Both of you need to stop yelling at me. Now!”

The December afternoon began to darken and turn into a gloomy, drizzly evening.

“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait for the cops to show up,” Tiffany offered. “We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

“And do what? Drag Chenoa along behind us?” Justine pointed out. “No way. We’ll leave her here. Another kidnapping Dillard’s botched. At this point we have to save ourselves.”

Dillard took the suggestion to heart and took out a flashlight from the glove box. He popped the latch for the hood release, got out of the SUV to see if he could locate what was wrong.

“What are you doing?” Tiffany wanted to know. “You don’t know anything about fixing cars. You’re useless when it comes to fixing anything.”

Unfazed, Dillard stuck his head under the cover, jiggled a few wires. That was really all he could do before giving up. Tiffany was right. He didn’t know squat about how to get the SUV going again. That left only one thing to do.

“A change in plans,” he decided. “We’ll attract too much attention on foot. We’ll have to get to an alternate site.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Justine warned. “You leave that woman in the car. She’ll slow us down if you don’t.”

Dillard refused to leave his prize behind so he ignored the voice. After opening the back of the SUV, he slapped the unconscious Chenoa awake so she could stand on her own.

The woman was still groggy and disoriented, but despite her condition, he shoved her to her feet then dragged her across the road muttering to himself the entire way. With Chenoa in tow, he took off through soaring conifers and low scrubs, fighting his way past bright-red Fraser Photinia, deep green holly and stubborn Irish yew. His goal was to reach the summit, and beyond that, to his cabin on the north side of the peak.

Dillard knew Tiffany and Justine believed he was stupid. They always had, just as his parents had. But he’d show them all just how smart he could be. He wasn’t lost. He knew exactly where he needed to go and he had a great sense of direction.

When his produce business had taken off, he’d bought a little A-frame cabin on five acres tucked away less than three miles north of Seattle’s busiest regions with a perfect view of Puget Sound.

Isolated, the property sat on an inaccessible slope. Tonight, the side of the mountain would act as the perfect cover. He doubted anyone would try to make the climb in rainy weather to come after him.

Drenched, Dillard dragged Chenoa up one more hillside and down through a muddy bog. They were surrounded by timberland. The rain came down so hard, he could barely see ten feet in front of him. When Chenoa lost her footing, he pulled her up and shoved her to get going again.

“Where are you taking me? Don’t hurt me. Please,” Chenoa pleaded. “I have money.”

“Shut up!” Dillard shouted and slapped her in the face. “I’m tired of your criticism. All the fucking time, that’s all you do is tell me what I’ve done wrong. So, shut up and do what I tell you. Now move!”

Fearing this deranged man, Chenoa did as she was told. They slogged toward a clearing in the distance, every step an effort as the mud clung to their boots like paste.

“We’re almost there,” Dillard uttered under his breath shoving Chenoa forward.

To reach the gate they had to walk another hundred yards or so. It wasn’t easy tugging the woman over the rutted terrain, but soon he managed to reach a cedar fence with stone pillars.

Once they stopped moving, he let go of Chenoa long enough to remove the key from the pocket of his jodhpurs. He unlocked the padlock and let the chain clank against the fence in an annoying clatter.

The fierce wind caused it to dangle there while he pulled Chenoa into his arena, a muddy front yard. Once inside the compound he didn’t bother to secure the gate. There was no need. With darkness and the rural seclusion, he felt safe here. No one had ever bothered him here before and he doubted they would tonight.

Before the two could reach the front door, though, Chenoa broke free from his grasp and bolted. She ran into the rain and the darkness, stumbling but doing her best to get away.

It didn’t take long for Chenoa’s breeches to get soaked from running over wet ground. She fell down three times but managed to get back up each time. She had trouble seeing her way over the rough terrain. Navigating became impossible and she ended up spending too much time bumping into cedar stumps and crawling up and down the rocky slopes.

Her riding boots were muddied up to the calf as she tried to make her way through the minefield of rock and mud only to get stuck. Without a coat or jacket, the freezing rain made her shiver in the lightweight clothes she had on. She had to keep moving. But keeping on the move didn’t do anything to help her footing.

With her next step, she fell into a hole and went down.

Out of nowhere a big hand reached to pull her up out of the ditch. But when she glanced up she saw it was the crazy guy who’d taken her. He had makeup streaming down his face.

That’s when Chenoa let out a scream as loud as her lungs would let her.

Ten minutes after
Winston sent the malware to the Yukon, Skye and Josh led the group—Harry, Travis, and Emmett—to where the stalled vehicle had been left in the middle of a two-lane road off Alaskan Way. The SUV blocked what little traffic Essex Place offered up. The side street was generally used as a cut-through to reach the sights along Magnolia Boulevard like Smith Cove or Fourmile Rock—that scenic stretch before the landscape opened up to acres and acres of wooded rocky slopes.

“King’s headed north. We need the GPS coordinates for his other properties in that area,” Skye voiced. “I’ll text Winston for a list.”

“I know where he’s going,” Josh stated without hesitation.

Skye looked past Josh’s shoulder and spotted Kiya in the distance, the wolf’s nose to the ground. “Who needs coordinates when we have our own tracking device.”

Josh leaned in, gave her a quick smack on the lips before spinning around to Harry and an anxious Travis. “Get helicopters in the air with heat-seeking equipment. There’s a local search company that uses drones. Call them. Rally everyone at the foundation to meet us at the summit on Magnolia Bluff. Tell them to wear something suitable for hiking because they may need to fan out to cover the area. In the meantime, we follow the sloppy trail he’s left for us.”

After texting Winston, Skye took out her phone to use the map app. “You’re right, this guy must be losing it to try and make it up to the peak with the light fading and the weather like it is.”

Her cell phone dinged with a text back from Winston. She read it out loud. “One of King’s string of real estate purchases includes a cabin near the old lighthouse, on the north side of Magnolia Bluff.”

“So he’s making a beeline for one of his other homes. It makes me wonder if King didn’t want us to follow him.”

“Maybe. He should be easy enough to track now. The ground there is soft, nothing but silt and sand. Back in 1996 there was a landslide in that same area.”

Travis glanced up at the sky, noted a line of dark rain clouds hovering on the horizon and drifting slowly inland from the northwest. “If it keeps raining like this, chances are, there’ll be another.”

“How soon before we get the choppers and drones?” Josh asked Harry.

Harry finished the call he’d been on and said, “Bad news, guys. The weather has worsened. Heavy thunderstorms are moving in, headed straight for us. The choppers and drones have to wait until the weather clears. I think we should, too.”

“That could take hours.” Skye walked around to the trunk of the Subaru, started pulling out essentials—bottles of water, power bars, flashlights—and stuffing them down into a backpack. She turned to Travis. “Chenoa’s out there somewhere. Her safety won’t wait for the storm to pass. Don’t worry, we’ll find her and bring her back.”

Josh pulled out his cell phone to bring up a satellite image of the targeted area. “We’d better get moving. We have rugged terrain ahead. If it’s at all possible, send the chopper and the drones out at the first break in the clouds.”

Travis wrapped up Skye. “Maybe you should listen to Harry. Wait until the storm moves through the area. I mean, I want to find Chenoa as much as you guys do, but sending you two out in this downpour doesn’t make any sense.”

“We’ll be okay,” Josh assured his father-in-law. “There’s two of us and one of him.”

But Travis wasn’t appeased that easily. “Yeah, and this particular
him
is a crazed serial killer who probably has the strength of six people. You know, like they say meth heads have.”

Skye cracked a smile at the concern, tossed an arm around her dad’s shoulder. “Stop being such a worrywart. You stay here and hold down the fort. Get ready to board that chopper as soon as the word comes in that it’s safe to fly. By that time, I’m sure we’ll probably need a ride out of King’s hellhole.”

Travis grabbed Josh’s arm and whispered, “I have a bad feeling about this. Don’t leave her alone for any reason, no matter what.”

“Don’t worry. There’ll be no more splitting our forces like the last time.”